& Other Stories sweater
& Other Stories skirt (similar)
Sezane heels
Vintage necklace (similar)
Linjer rings (c/o) (similar)
Mejuri earrings (similar)
Location: Osborne Village – Winnipeg, Manitoba
My appreciation for cheap (and often somewhat tawdry) tourist shops, filled with low-priced souvenirs, has increased over the years. I say that because for a long time, my level of appreciate was non-existent. There was a time when you wouldn’t have caught me dead anywhere that sold fridge magnets and shot glasses, unless I was in desperate need of a postcard to mail back home. When there are so many beautiful ways to commemorate a vacation, from photos to museum programs and posters to local foods, why, I often wondered, would anyone choose a chunk of plastic, indelicately molded by a machine into the shape of a lumpy croissant, with a magnet glued to the back?
But there’s something about those kinds of souvenirs that is so indicative of place and time that I can’t help but feel a bit of love for them now. They’re inexpensive, easy to transport and somehow familiar no matter where you go. I appreciate all of that. And I appreciate the people who run the stores that sell them. My visits to tourists shops are still a rare occurrence. But when I do stop in, it’s usually early in the morning. The shopkeepers, just setting up for the day, are generally open to a chat. And, in my experience, often prove surprisingly passionate about their wares, ready to discuss the relative merits of three different versions of what look, to the outside observer, like identical plaster models of a local attraction.
All that to say that I think, as we learn and grow, (and dare I say it, age,) it’s wonderful to observe how our own perspectives shift. We become more open, ideally, to what our younger selves might not have considered to have value or meaning. Souvenirs are, for me, just a small example of that.
With that said, my own idea of wonderful souvenirs will never be fridge magnets or shot glasses. My tastes lean more towards commemorative posters – I picked one up at The Courtauld while in London, which I still need to frame. And, of course, towards special books. If there is any moment in time that a good book, well chosen, doesn’t perfectly serve as an emblem of, I can’t think what it might be. (But that, I have no doubt, speaks to my own bias towards, and profound passion for, books of all kinds.) I came home with a stack of books as souvenirs of London. Each one is different. My favourite, if I can choose one, is the nineteen fifties edition from The Great American Artists Series about Willem de Koonig that you see in these snapshots.
I stumbled upon this little book about de Koonig at Skoob. Among the shelves upon shelves of vintage Penguin pocket books hid a small but surprisingly well curated collection of art books. Mindful of the fact that I’d travelled carry-on only, and would be solely responsible to lug my bags back home, however heavy they were, I had to choose wisely from among the selection. (At home, I don’t hesitate to tell you, I would simply have bought everything that caught my eye.) I left with the de Koonig, and a couple of Penguin pocket books, too, because what bibliophile could resist?
My bags, by the way, were absurdly heavy. I regret nothing now, but at the time, I questioned my decisions once or twice.
When I was home, it seemed only fitting to capture a few snapshots with my favourite souvenirs of London. This red sweater, snapped up at & Other Stories near King’s Cross Station, is one, too. It matches the de Koonig book so perfectly, it’s like I planned it. (Which I most definitely did not, but I do love when things work out.) These are my kind of souvenirs. But I can understand now, more than I did when I was younger, why someone might appreciate a fridge magnet, instead.
